


Damn, Legolas (Right Back at it Again With the Pretentious Coffee Orders)

by snap_crackles



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, Fluff and Crack, I'm so sorry if that has been done already, Legolas' coffee orders has no chill, M/M, based on the damn daniel meme, cameo appearance of Saruman, is this meme still a thing?, pretentious coffee orders, this fic is trash...i should be studying for finals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:18:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6789787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snap_crackles/pseuds/snap_crackles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That fic where twenty-five year old Aragorn works at Golden Woods coffee shop as a barista, a certain blonde likes to make life difficult with complicated orders of coffee, Eowyn is like the sister Aragorn isn’t sure he’s ever wanted, and Haldir is a cool boss.</p>
<p>AKA: What the heck is an Americano?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damn, Legolas (Right Back at it Again With the Pretentious Coffee Orders)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I’ve never actually set foot in a coffee shop before, but coffee shop AUs are so much fun and I’m Aralas trash…so…here we are. I also looked up some obnoxious orders Starbucks employees have encountered, and I can’t believe any of them are an actual thing?!?

When Aragorn enters Golden Woods, it’s 5:45 in the morning and he can smell the aroma of blueberry muffins already baking in the kitchen. The display cases are slowly filling up with baked goods, and on the top shelf there is an assortment of freshly made cinnamon rolls, banana muffins, sliced coffee cake, and scones.

“You’re late again, Aragorn!” A voice loudly called out from the back office. Aragorn winced.

“My car needed to jumpstart! The battery died.” He replied as he made his way behind the counter. As he crouched down in front of one of the lower cabinets, he heard Haldir’s footsteps coming his way.

“You really need to ditch that sorry car of yours,” Haldir comments unapologetically as he eyes the brunette who is rummaging around. He hears a noncommittal hum as a response and simply rolls his eyes.

After sifting through some folded cloth, Aragorn stands and hangs a clean (floral patterned) apron around himself, before peering at his friend who’s leaning against the counter with crossed arms. Haldir wears a crooked smile that doesn’t reach tired eyes…Aragorn elects to not comment on the dark bruises that shadow on pale skin.

(Haldir hardly sleeps…night terrors of being in the military haunt him, and Aragorn knows better than to bring the subject up. It’s the reason why there’s so much food freshly cooked—Haldir just wastes hours baking.)

“I can’t seem to let her go,” Aragorn finally replied, a little too late, and Haldir sighed with exasperation.

“You and your cars,” He muttered under his breath, but it’s fond and lacks actual scorn. With a shake of his head, Haldir strolled over to the oven before calling over his shoulder. “Never mind that though, I need to tend the muffins in a minute or else they’ll burn. Could you be a good bro and restock the newspapers? The new subscriptions came in at two this morning.”

Aragorn doesn’t need to be told twice. As he slipped away for the office and passed Haldir, he let his hand clasp the other’s shoulder and gently squeezed before letting go.

(It’s his silent way of communication; one that Haldir has always understood: I’m concerned about you, and I know you don’t want to talk, but I’ll be here anyways—always have, always will be.)

Haldir, feeling touched, smiled at his retreating friend’s back. “The apron suits you by the way!” He shouts, and as Aragorn rounds the corner, he flicked the blonde off, while wearing a grin on his face.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time 11 AM rolls around, the customer flow has dwindled and Aragorn can’t help but feel appreciative. He tends to loves the initial morning rush hours in-between 6 to 8, and he enjoys the adrenaline rush that comes with dealing with hectic people, but even that loses its fun after a while.

“Do you think it’s time to check on him?” Eowyn, the twenty-one year old barista, asked as she looked up from a cup of iced strawberry lemonade. Aragorn contemplates before nodding.

“You got this?” He questioned, knowing the young woman had only started a month ago and never had to actually man the entire counter by herself. Eowyn snorted.

“Oh please, rush hour is over. I can deal with two-to-three customers at a time no problem. Go check on the boss,” and despite being younger than Aragorn by four years, she waved him away like a mother shooing her child to leave her alone.

(Aragorn still can’t seem to wrap his mind around the fact that she used to be so painfully shy around him during her first two weeks of employment.)

Expecting to have to go upstairs into Haldir’s actual residence, he finds the blonde laying on the office’s sofa instead, curled on his side.

“The crowds are gone if you want to come out,” Aragorn begins mildly as he approached his friend who hadn’t reacted to his presence at all. “There are a few customers out there, of course.” Aragorn continued, sitting on the couch’s arm. “Three college students have occupied the love seats by the windows and there’s an old woman sitting at a table at the far left of the room, if it helps.”

Aragorn knows that crowds still make Haldir feel cornered and overwhelmed. As of lately, it’s a coin-toss; some days are worse than others and today just seemed like one of _those_ days.

(A woman had brought in a screaming child at around nine; it was enough stress to send Haldir away for the rest of the morning.)

He watched the steady rise and fall of his friend’s figure before realizing that Haldir really was asleep. Spotting a jacket laying on top of a small work desk, Aragorn retrieved it before draping it over the sleeping man.

Slipping out from the office and returning to his spot behind one of the registers, he spotted Eowyn texting away furiously on her phone.

“Is everything okay?” He asked casually, to which Eowyn snapped back with a harsh “just dandy!”

He finds it slightly amusing how Eowyn shifts her jaw around and glares holes through her screen; he can’t help but feel sorry for whoever has to deal with the burn of her anger.

“Overprotective brother,” she grumbled as she stuffed her phone into her pocket and chased her frustration down with a heavy gulp of her lemonade. Aragorn huffed a small laugh, remembering all too well what it was like, being the youngest adopted son and having three older siblings.

When Eowyn locks eye contact with her older co-worker, she shoots him a slightly affronted gaze, which only makes him grin wider. It a few seconds of exchanging opposing looks before Eowyn’s irritated façade drops. She giggles and it elicits a set of snickers on Aragorn’s behalf.

“Um…” The two baristas look up alarmed, failing to notice that a customer had just walked in. “Pardon for interrupting?”

The sight of the stranger has both Eowyn and Aragorn gaping and at a loss for words. The customer seems young with a soft, pointed face, eyes covered with gold-rimmed aviators. He has long, white blonde hair, with intricate braids keeping his locks from falling around his face. The stranger also dons an expensive, tailored suit, charcoal in color; he’s different from the usual customers that walk through their door.

“Hi!”

“Hello.”

The two baristas share a quick glance at each other, and Aragorn can catch an eager spark in Eowyn’s eyes. He’s familiar with this look; the predatory glint that reads ‘ _this one is mine!_ ’

“Welcome to Golden Woods! We’re sorry about that; truly. Anyway, what can I get you, sir?” Eowyn is alert, and from Aragorn’s observations—and amusement— he can tell that the young woman is restraining herself from bouncing on her toes. The young man seemed to catch this, because he offered a tentative smile.

“It’s alright. I was thinking about having an iced, half caff, ristretto, venti, 4-pump, sugar free, cinnamon, dolce soy skinny latte.” The words flowed fluidly from his lips, and Aragorn watched as the smile slipped slowly from Eowyn’s face, the light dying from her eyes.

“Um…” Eowyn responds, clueless to half of what the customer had relayed. “I—I’m sorry, _what_?” and Aragorn can’t blame her, because honestly— _same_.

The young man frowned.

“An iced, half caff, ristretto, venti, 4-pump, sugar free, cinnamon, dolce soy skinny latte.” He repeats, genuinely sounding just as confused. “I’m sorry; do you not have that blend here?” Eowyn blanks at the spot, giving Aragorn a chance to jump in to the rescue.

“Sir, this isn’t Starbucks.” Aragorn blurted out. The blonde turned his attention to him, looking taken back.

“I know this isn’t Starbucks—”

“No, I mean, we just haven’t had an order like that. _Ever_.”

“…Oh…” Disappointment colors the young man’s tone, and he even rocks back and forth a little bit on his feet. “I guess I’ll go somewhere else?”

“No!” Eowyn and Aragorn simultaneously called out, causing their customer to jump in his spot.

(Eowyn had even reached out, as if she had wanted to grab him from leaving.)

(Eowyn is now also heavily blushing.)

“We’ll try to make your order,” Aragorn nods assuring the man, and the customer gave a not-quite-there smile, the corners of his lips just slightly lifted upward. “Just maybe—” Aragorn hastily glanced around the counter surfaces before grabbing a napkin and a pen nearby. “Just write down your order maybe?” The young man shrugged.

“Yeah, sure,” and after five minutes of Aragorn tending to the customer’s coffee under the watchful eye of both the young man and Eowyn—because no pressure, right?— he hands the male his latte with an expression of hope.

“I think I got it right,” Aragorn stated, somewhat confident. The young man looked at the clear, plastic cup, and swirled around its contents before taking a small sip. The two baristas watched, not knowing they were both holding their breaths, and observed as the young man grimaced.

“It’s good,” The blonde lied, glancing upward, his eyes hiding from underneath his shades, and both baristas felt their hearts sink.

“Good to hear!” Eowyn, always quick on her feet and ever the good worker, chirped in false cheer, forcing a grin on her lips.

“Thank you.” The stranger said, nodding towards Aragorn, who smiled politely back. The customer turned on his heel, and Eowyn called out, “Come see us again!”

When the door shut, the two baristas rounded on each other, eyes wide with exasperation.

“Never again.” Aragorn commented faintly, shaking his head. His co-worker nervously laughed in agreement.

“No, but he’s hot though,” She looked back out to the windows and they both watched as a shiny black car pulled out of the parking lot and into the main road. “He can come back anytime if that means we’ll be graced with his cute ass.” She looked up at Aragorn impishly, but the man stepped back.

“Oh no, if he comes back, you’re dealing with him!” He said, only shaking his head more incessantly, hands raised in surrender.

“But admit it—he’s totally hot.”

“He’s totally _not_.”

“Is hot!”

“Is not!”

“You’re in denial. Seriously, I wonder what color his eyes are. I bet they’re pretty. Do you think his eyes are pretty?”

“I don’t know what to think.” Aragorn grumbled with a stern eyebrow raised. Instead of discouraging her however, the younger of the baristas only snickered.

“Well, I’m spreading the news to the boss.”

“Haldir’s asleep.”

“Then I’ll wait for him to wake up.”

“That’s not oddly creepy at all.”

“And you’re not oddly blind to not notice our customer’s attractiveness.” With a smirk, the young woman gently pushed Aragorn to the side and marched to the backroom, leaving Aragorn to tend the counter alone.

(The customer wasn’t hot. No, definitely not.)

 

* * *

 

 

The next day at around 11:30 Aragorn was placing cookies into the oven when he heard someone clear their throat. Swiveling around with a smile automatically pulling in place, both his eyebrows shoot upward to find yesterday’s peculiar customer back again. This time, he wears a navy tailored suit unlike yesterday’s black and his face is absent of sunglasses, revealing a pair of striking, bright blue eyes, clearer than the sky at day.

“Hello again,” The customer greeted courteously coupled with, this time, a slightly larger but earnest smile.

(It’s still a restrained thing though, as if the young man is consciously bothered by public image.)

 Aragorn nodded back in acknowledgement. The blonde’s brows furrow for a second before commenting, “You have a different apron today.” Upon Aragorn’s bewildered look, he added, “Yesterday your apron had flowers on it; I thought it was quite nice, but the navy blue is good too…”

“Right…Thank you?” Aragorn blanked, because how does one respond to that? “Same order as yesterday’s?” he asks but the blonde only shook his head.

“No, it’s different today.” He stated, and Aragorn can feel his muscles tense. Haldir had taken the day off, feeling ill, and Eowyn was currently in the back room, reviewing for her evening classes while the customer flow had lessened.

_Dammit._

“Alright, let’s have it.” Aragorn nodded, reigning in his patience and attempting to look friendly. The blonde nibbled on his bottom lip.

(Aragorn totally did not catch how the pale pink of his customer’s lip blossomed red at the bite. Nope. He totally did _not_ catch that at all.)

“Er…You might want a napkin for this too.”

_Of bloody course I’d need a napkin._ Grabbing a nearby cloth and pen, he nodded for the blonde to rehearse his order.

“Quad grande six pump vanilla one inch steamed breve Americano.”

_What the fuck is an Americano?_

“Cool, I’ll have one right up for you,” Aragorn knows his cheery tone is fake and the way his customer’s eyes brighten almost makes him feel guilty that he’s intending to just wing the order. His mind raced for memories of any one customer that had possibly ordered an Americano in the past. His mind offers no results.

“You have no clue what an Americano is, do you?” The younger man smugly states, amusement in his voice as he watches Aragorn drum his fingers on the back counter.

“I know what it is!” Aragorn snapped back before he could help himself. He doesn’t want to ask for help, not until he knows he’s completely helpless. Regretting his outburst immediately, he sighed and turned around to face his customer in defeat, swallowing his surprise to see the bastard standing there with his arms crossed and a slight smirk painted on his features.

(He looked damn good with a smirk too. Sweet Valar, help him. This was walking on the thin line of injustice!)

“It’s espresso diluted with hot water…at least, I _think_.” The smirk faded and Aragorn raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“You _think_?”

After a second of consideration, the customer shook his head before confidently replying, “No. I know.”

Rolling his eyes, Aragorn went back to the machines and began making the… _Americano_.

Sliding over the drink, he crossed his arms and watched as the blonde took it and sipped through the straw, instantly recoiling at the taste. Aragorn isn’t sure whether to feel annoyed or pleasured by the reaction.

“Thanks,” The blonde nodded stiffly, still tasting what was probably bitterness on his tongue.

“You’re welcome.” Aragorn called to the blonde’s back as his customer walked away.

After the man had left the premise, Aragorn bolted to the back room.

“He did it again!” He cried out, causing Eowyn to look up from her biology textbook in surprise.

“He came back?!?” She asked keenly, hopping from the couch. “Did he order the same thing? Was it different? Was he wearing sunglasses again?”

Aragorn shook his head, and Eowyn’s eyes widened. “He had pretty eyes didn’t he?” She asked with a knowing look on her face. “Don’t deny me this!” Aragorn gave her a dead stare.

“Yeah, he had pretty eyes. Sure. But he also ordered an Americano.”

“An Ameri- _what_?”

“Exactly.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was 7:30 the next morning, right smack in the middle of rush hour, when Aragorn and Eowyn saw _him_ enter the building.

“I swear, if he pulls another Americano,” Aragorn muttered through gritted teeth, placing a lid on top of someone’s black coffee. Eowyn looked up at him curiously, as she too slapped on a lid over someone’s latte.

“Honestly, I’m more bitter that he looks good—who the hell looks that flawless in the morning?” Eowyn replied, and Aragorn shot her a disdainful expression to which she answered with a cheeky grin.

“You’re baiting.” He accused. “Quit baiting me!”

“Someone has a crush!” She singsong jovially, and sniggered at Aragorn’s attempt to stomp on her foot.

(Aragorn’s still debating on whether Eowyn is a bright star in his life, or a pesky, deviant could-have-been little sister that the gods were kind enough to spare him from.)

Generally speaking, Aragorn wasn’t having it today. His dog Brego had peed on his last pair of somewhat-still-clean-technically-usable jeans that were laying on his bedroom floor, and the pair he was wearing right now had come from the dirty laundry hamper, now motor oil stained from having to do last minute repairs on his car that had broken down on his way to work.

“SOUR-MAN WHITE!” Aragorn hollered out into the masses. Animals, the whole lot of them. A rather hostile looking old man with a sick pimp-cane came to the counter and snatched his drink from the countertop.

“It’s Saruman.” He growled, and Aragorn rolled his eyes, causing the senior to stalk away.

“LOL, old people, _amirite_?” Eowyn chuckled, before calling out “Frodo? Where is Frodo?”

Haldir, who had disappeared into the backroom to get more cups left Aragorn in charge of collecting orders temporarily. Aragorn knew why Haldir had disappeared for a few minutes and he couldn’t blame his friend; this morning so far was hell.

(One customer, a sad looking college student, had tried to pay Haldir for their coffee in tharni coins, while a frazzled looking man in his early forties paid with a 100 castar bill.)

Unfortunately, with Haldir’s absence, that left Mr. Impossible as Aragorn’s responsibility. Reaching for a sticky note, Aragorn was about to expectantly rehearse “Good Morning. What’s your order?”  When the blonde slid a napkin in his direction.

“Figured you might appreciate it,” The young man stated simply, cutting away formalities and shrugging his shoulders; pent up tension that was held in Aragorn’s muscles seemed to leave, if only for a moment. Searching the young man’s face and finding no mockery, Aragorn deflated.

“Thank you,” he calmly said, before picking up the slip of cloth-like paper. From the corner of his eyes, he caught Eowyn, that minx, grinning as she passed a tired looking woman her drink.

In thin, loopy cursive, the order read: Grande Chai Tea Latte, 3 Pump, Skim Milk, Lite Water, No Foam, Extra Hot

The order was ridiculous, but Aragorn couldn’t find the nerve to actually be mad. Peering upward, he found Legolas watching him, expression serenely neutral.

“Can I have a name with this?” He asked.

“Legolas,” The blonde replied quietly, and Aragorn repeated the name out loud, partially because he wanted to confirm it, also partially because he wanted to test saying the name himself.

It was enough to garner a genuine grin from Legolas, and the sight was disarming.

“Give us ten or fifteen minutes at the most, is that alright?” Aragorn asked, completely ignoring the fact that Eowyn was standing there, watching them both with pure awe.

“Fine by me,” Legolas intoned before walking off.

“Well _that_ was _magical_.” Eowyn teased, as she punched some buttons on the register.

“Well _you_ need to shut it,” Aragorn grumbled tiredly.

Feeling Haldir’s sudden presence, he handed his boss Legolas’ napkin. Haldir read the order to himself before snorting.

“This is a joke right?” Haldir demanded, rounding on Aragorn, who sighed.

“Would you believe it if I said no?”

The look Haldir gave Aragorn was one of disbelief.

“It’s _that_ customer again, isn’t it?” he asked, and when Aragorn deadpanned stared back, Haldir waved the napkin in the air with incredulity. “It says _lite_ water. What the hell is _lite_ water?”

“Hell if I know, just roll with it.”

 

* * *

 

 

The practice continued for the rest of the week, with Aragorn taking bizarre, pretentious orders from a less withdrawn but always properly well-dressed Legolas. They were never consistent, and often they would leave Aragorn, Eowyn and Haldir speechless.

But what had confused Aragorn the most was why the hell after every order, the blonde would look as if he had tasted the most horrendous thing in the world.

“Maybe he just likes trying new things?” Eowyn shrugged on a Friday, after the blonde had left them with an empty shop.

Aragorn eyed her bewilderedly.

“Trying new things? Eowyn, we’re talking about _coffee_ , not some mad science experiment. He ordered a freaking tall, half-caff, soy latte at _180 degrees_. Who in the right mind comes up with these ideas?”

“Legolas, apparently.” Haldir shrugged, chewing on a lemon bar. He offered his unbitten cookie to Aragorn who gladly accepted.

“Okay, well maybe he just wants an excuse to come see _someone_.” Eowyn shrugged before craftily smiling up at Aragorn. The latter choked on his snack as the young woman hip bumped him.

“No. Okay, no.” Aragorn shook his head. “That’s definitely not the reason. Classy people like him don’t go for scruffy people like me.”

Haldir slurped loudly on his personal thermos of hot green tea, causing Eowyn to giggle and Aragorn to shoot him a murderous glare, to which Haldir replied with a meaningful wink.

“At least you admit now that he’s cute, right?” Eowyn coaxed.

Aragorn didn’t respond, opting to take a bite out of his cookie and chew with frustration.

He hates his friends sometimes.

A hand landed on his shoulder and Aragorn shifted his gaze to Haldir who gently smiled back.

(Aragorn is familiar with this action: a silent sign of I trust you, and I’m confident in what you can do. I’ve got your back, but you should trust in yourself too.)

 

* * *

 

 

When Saturday rolls around, Aragorn wakes up to the sound of his phone vibrating against his bedside table. With a groan, he opts to ignore it, only to hear his phone vibrate again. With eyes tightly shut, Aragorn reached over and groped the surface of the stand, blindly searching for his phone. Upon finding it, he turned over to his side and slid the lock screen.

EoWIN: Hurry your ass up to GW

EoWIN: it’s an emergency

Bolting upward, he swung himself off the bed, tripping over Brego in the process of taking a step forward.

“I’m sorry boy,” Aragorn muttered as his dog sat and looked up at his owner with an expression that could only be read as _‘why would you do me like that?’_

Grabbing a pair of clean jeans from the laundry basket at the side of his footboard, he shimmied into them as he hurriedly dialed up Eowyn’s number.

_Hi, you’ve reached Eowyn and obviously I can’t answer my phone right now, so if you could please leave a message, I’ll be sure to get back with you…_ **beep**

Aragorn groaned. Ending the call, he redialed his friend’s number again, only to have her voicemail echoed the second time. Giving up, he stuck his phone into his back pocket before grabbing a random white tee-shirt hanging from the back of a swivel chair and dashing out the room, snagging his leather jacket that was sitting on top of the sofa.

Climbing into his car, he jammed the key into the ignition, twisting it to start, only to hear the reluctant whine of the engine. Dammit.

Haldir’s right. He _should_ get a new car.

When he arrives at Golden Woods via Uber services, he swings open the coffee shop door to find everything running smoothly. There are a few couples on dates sitting around at the tables and there’s a group of teenagers hogging the couch and armchairs. Merry and Pippin, the two high schoolers that work the weekend shifts, are currently tossing candies into one another’s mouths and Eowyn is chatting with a red-headed woman while blushing to the roots of her hair.

“Aragorn!” Eowyn brightly greets, spotting him over the red-head’s shoulder, and it cues him to stalk forward, feeling slightly irritated.

_Slightly_.

“You said there was an emergency!”

“Yeah about that—”

“I tried calling you, but you wouldn’t pick up!”

“In my defense, Merry and Pippin took my phone and I still don’t have it on me—”

“So what _is_ the emergency?”

“Ary, it was a joke,” Eowyn coaxed gently. “I meant to tell you but Twiddle-Dee and Twiddle-Dum stole my phone!”

“I thought something happened to Haldir! I thought this place was on fire!” When Eowyn shifts her jaw and looks past his shoulder, Aragorn thought he might’ve gotten though with his point, until he caught a brief mischievous glint in her eyes. The sparkle was gone in a flash and she transferred her gaze back to Aragorn before innocently remarking:

“Oh, something is definitely smoking, but it’s not the shop that’s burning right now.” The statement caused the young woman Eowyn was previously conversing with to chuckle, and Aragorn had to draw his eyebrows together in confusion.

“I—what?” Confused, he turned around, seeing Legolas standing outside, mid-laughter, chatting with a significantly shorter young man who had a headful of curly red hair.

The blonde looked different to what Aragorn was accustomed to seeing—absent of a suit and tie, the young man was clad in straight-legged jeans, an open denim button-down with a pastel blue V-neck underneath. He looked like any other college aged-student and he was _laughing_ and looked genuinely _carefree_.

It was bizarre.

“I heard my brother gives you a hard time with his coffee orders,” The other woman spoke up, addressing Aragorn for the first time. Aragorn turned to look at her and found her leaning against the counter with a sharply arched eyebrow, amusement written on her velvet-red, smiling lips and knowing written in her sharp, assessing green eyes.

“Yeah, they’re a bit over the top.” Aragorn concedes, causing her to roll her eyes and snort.

“ _Everything_ Legolas does is over the top. But, he does have his reasons,” She grinned peculiarly, before sticking out her hand. “Tauriel.”

“Aragorn.” He noticed how firm her grip was, and he knew this was a woman not to be crossed. Whereas her brother was calmly restrained, guarded under placid and polite expressions, Tauriel felt like a wild animal watching him behind tall grass; unpredictable under a coy disguise.

“Well it was nice to meet you,” Tauriel earnestly said, before turning to Eowyn. “And it was nice meeting you too.” She sent a wink toward the blonde female, one that seemed more friendly and warm in Aragorn’s viewpoint, before she lifted her hand in goodbye and walked off with a muffin in hand.

Aragorn switched his gaze back in forth between the retreating red-head and his gaping friend, whose pale, blue eyes were wide in shock.

“Wait.” Eowyn muttered, coming back to earth. “Wait.” Running from behind the counter, pen in hand, she chased after Tauriel who was already at the door. “Tauriel!”

And Aragorn watched, dumbstruck, as Eowyn stumbled over asking the woman for her number, and Tauriel confidently proposing a date for the next Friday night. Both females wore identical grins that could honestly light up the whole city of Lothlorein…

“How _the hell_ did you do that?” Aragorn demanded, after Tauriel had left and Eowyn had returned to her place behind the counter. She blinked at him warily, as she tucked a strand of fair hair behind her ear.

“Honestly, I don’t know? It’s still registering.” She squinted her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Aragorn said hastily, while stiffening in his place, but Eowyn just grinned at him, all signs of uncertainty gone and replaced with a smile as sharp as knives.

 

* * *

 

 

“Grande, single shot, 4 pumps, sugar free, peppermint, nonfat, extra hot, no foam, light whip, stirred, white mocha.” Legolas rattles off on a cold and rainy Monday afternoon upon entering Golden Woods. His hair is dripping water onto the tile and his face looks as if someone had shot his puppy in front of him. Haldir and Eowyn, who were in the middle of a debate, blink, while Aragorn gapes.

“I…beg your pardon?” It’s all that Aragorn can muster while Haldir slips a napkin and pen quietly in-between the stare down. Legolas actually looks apologetic this time as he takes the napkin and writes down his order, while simultaneously rehearsing the blend straight from the seventh circle of pretentious hell.

An awkward silence ensues as they all wait for Aragorn to make Legolas’ drink. When Aragorn hands the blonde young man his order, the customer takes it, face openly grateful as he cradles it close.

“Thanks,” is all Legolas quietly says, eyes downcast as he turns to leave. The three baristas are at a loss for words; the tiny raincloud hanging over the blonde’s head make the atmosphere in the shop constricting. When he exits, Eowyn sighs.

“Something’s wrong.” She says softly, voice laced with concern. “I’ll ask Tauriel later if he’s alright.”

“He’s probably having a bad day,” Haldir says, eying the black car driving away. “The current weather doesn’t really help moods.”

“Rainy season’s coming,” Eowyn intones, watching Aragorn from the corner of her eyes.

Aragorn makes a noncommittal hum as he watches the torrential downpour beat against the window glass.

 

* * *

 

 

Legolas doesn’t come the next day.

Or the day after that.

He doesn’t show up all week.

(Aragorn pretends it doesn’t bother him. Regulars come and regulars go. He ignores the knowing looks Eowyn and Haldir exchange when they think he isn’t looking.)

(And he totally doesn’t look up and feel hope every time the door opens, only to feel his heart sink when it’s someone else. No, his heart doesn’t do the weird skippy thing at all.)

 

* * *

 

 

It’s on a slightly overcast Thursday afternoon, 3:00 PM, when the shop’s doors open and Tauriel walks in, dragging her brother by the hand behind her.

“Two iced teas please, one coffee cake and a cinnamon roll.” She declares to Aragorn, tone all business like, but Aragorn is barely paying attention, his gaze locked on Legolas who sits at one of the tables, staring blankly into space.

“Tauriel!” Eowyn greets brightly as she walks from behind the counter and gives her girlfriend a hug. “I thought I heard your voice from the backroom!”

Tauriel tucks a strand of Eowyn’s hair behind her ear before giving her fond look.

“I figured my brother and I could stop by. He sort of needs to see the sun, and I sort of have the need to see you.” The remark makes Eowyn heavily blush and look down at her feet. The sight of it amuses Aragorn so much. It’s sweet of course, but comical.

He has new material to tease her with. The gods are good.

“Legolas, get your wimpy ass over here!” Tauriel calls out over her shoulder, and the blonde snaps out of his reverie. He swings his attention to three pairs of eyes watching him, and his expression freezes; he looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“He’s had a pretty bad week last week,” Tauriel begins quietly. “It’s been…complicated to put in in simple terms.”

“Hey,” Legolas greets softly when he regroups with his sister and two baristas.

“We’ve been missing you around here,” Eowyn offers kindly, and Legolas flashes her a faint smile that dies as quickly as it comes. “Heaven knows Ary’s been standing here everyday, waiting for you to come around.” Her gentle smile morphs into one that is sly as she side eyes Aragorn. Her lack of tact causes Tauriel to loudly snort, before she snakes her arm around the blonde female’s waist.

Legolas however, turns his gaze to the male barista, tilting his head slightly to the side, watching Aragorn curiously.

“She’s joking,” Aragorn dismisses quickly, causing Legolas to blink, expression unchanging. “Well, sort of…anyway. Why haven’t you been around? Have you been alright?”

“I’m dealing.” Legolas replies shortly. “I’ll be okay.”

“By hiding yourself in Gimli’s house.” Tauriel deadpanned.

“I’m homeless at the moment,” Legolas mumbled.

“You won’t let anyone in the guest bedroom! You have literally barricaded the locked door with the dresser!”

“I needed some space…”

“I had to sneak Boromir away during a company meeting to help me break in through the bedroom window!”

“Which Gimli will pissed off about by the way…”

“Gimli would be happy; he’s worried sick about you, we all are!” Tauriel hotly snapped back, withdrawing her arm from around Eowyn’s waist to place her hands on her hips.

“Wait…so what did happen?” Aragorn asked, watching the two’s banter with mild concern and growing confusion.

“Nothing,” Legolas said quickly, but Tauriel lifted her chin.

“He quit his position at our father’s company, our father disowned him, and now the world has officially ended.”

“It’s not their business!” Legolas growled.

“It becomes their business when my girlfriend happens to be a barista who knows you and sends me pictures everyday of Aragorn looking longingly out the window like he’s waiting for his long lost lover to come back from a war!”

“I—what?” Legolas took a step back, expression bewildered as he immediately focused his gaze on Aragorn, who’s face was identically shocked. “You _like_ me?”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, he definitely likes you,” Haldir’s voice piped up from around the corner, emerging from the shop’s office. Aragorn panics. “You’re his favorite daily topic.”

“I’m not—”

“It’s funny, he likes to gripe about your strange coffee orders, but I think he secretly misses them.” When all eyes stare heavily onto Aragorn’s being, it becomes too much.

“I need a smoke break,” He announces, before leaving his spot behind the counter and brushing past everyone else. He feels his lungs tighten and he thinks he hears people call him back, but his mind is swimming and goddammit, he doesn’t want to deal with stupid feelings right now.

He collapses onto the curb and exhales, rummaging into his pocket for a cigarette, when someone takes a seat beside him.

“I’ve got a lighter if you need one.” Legolas.

“You smoke?” Aragorn asks, as he takes the blonde’s offered lighter, holding out his own offering of death-on-a-stick. The latter only huffs an amused sound.

“Nah, but Gimli does, and sometimes he forgets to carry a lighter around with him, so I always have one in my pocket for his benefit.” When Aragorn snorts, Legolas adds in, “I know. I’m such a good friend.”

A silence engulfs the air between them when Legolas speaks out,

“Those coffee orders weren’t really mine...well, except for the peppermint one; _that_ was mine.”

Aragorn glanced over at Legolas, surprised, but the blonde didn’t meet his gaze.

“That explains why you always looked so disgusted after tasting them.”

“Yeah, I’m not big on coffee.” Legolas shrugged. “And you have my dad to blame for the pretentious orders.”

“The peppermint one was shallow as hell.”

“You’re welcome.” Legolas finally looked over at Aragorn and allowed a tiny smile. “So, _do_ you like me?” Aragorn stubbed his cigarette onto the concrete before sighing.

“Honestly, I don’t know… but I _do_ feel something. You’re attractive, I won’t deny that, but simply being attracted to someone doesn’t mean I want to immediately date them.”

“Fair point.” Legolas shrugged. “We don’t know that much about each other; I get it.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not open to the idea of dating.” Aragorn mused, and Legolas raised a stunned eyebrow.

“Was that an invitation?” He asked, and watched as the brunette grinned.

“It was a statement that can be taken in any way you want it to mean.”

“Valar, you’re worse than Mithrandir.” Legolas muttered to his knees, but looked pleased all the same. The statement was enough to make Aragorn bark out a laugh.

“Seriously though, yeah, it was an invite.” Aragorn said softly, and Legolas smiled at him, gentle and maybe a bit shy with a hint of uncertainty.

“I’d like that. Thank you, Aragorn.”

“So we have a date then?” Aragorn asked and Legolas nodded. “Cool, how about five o’clock this coming Saturday?”

“Sounds fine by me.” The sweet smile on Legolas’ face then turned into one of mischief.

“Would you take me out for a coffee? We could ask for pretentious orders together?”

“You are a child.” Aragorn groaned, but it’s a fond, joking statement, and it makes Legolas giggle.

The sound of his laughter makes Aragorn’s heart do the skippy thing.

Aragorn decides that maybe, he likes it.


End file.
